In the Beginning
by toughgirls22
Summary: My own take on the origins of the Gorillas
1. Chapter 1

Camp X

Ontario, Canada

Lieutenant Garrison reported to the commander's office as requested. He knocked on the door, but didn't salute as he entered. Not only were he and Lt. Brooker the same rank, but military flourishes were strongly discouraged at the joint SOE/OSS training facility. A salute at the wrong time could be fatal when they were behind enemy lines. Garrison had found it surprisingly easy to adapt to the change.

Brooker had two folders on the desk in front of him. One was Garrison's military file, the other had the red top-secret stripe on it. An assignment at last?

Brooker opened the top file. "We've been reviewing your record. You must know that you've received top marks and top ratings all around. We've thought of keeping you on an instructor."

Garrison spoke up. "Frankly, I'd rather see some action again."

"Hmm," the British officer puffed on his pipe. "Somehow, I thought you'd say that. Your psych tests show strong drive as well as leadership skills. Backed up by your service record, of course."

Garrison nodded, but said nothing.

"Your initiative and adaptive ratings are also top-drawer."

Garrison waited. He could taste it was coming.

Brooker closed the file and puffed again on his pipe. "We're also thinking of a special team for you. An experimental team, in fact." He paused and leaned back in his chair. It wasn't like him, this beating around the bush.

"Intelligence has been reviewing some programs proposed by President Roosevelt's advisors. One of them would offer amnesty to convicts willing to serve in the armed forces. OSS would like to take that one step further, and set up an operative team of convicts with needed special skills. We can only teach so much at this facility, and they think these, uh, fellows would start out a step ahead in knowing how to operate, uh, covertly."

Garrison kept his face as blank as the Brit's. He could tell they both thought it was a hare-brained scheme.

"Have these convicts already been selected?"

"No, no, they simply suggest a skill set that would be useful. Safecracking, burglary, confidence schemes and so forth. Selection would be up to the unit CO…. You, in fact, should you be interested to volunteer."

"Of course, I'm happy to volunteer, sir." Garrison managed to keep the irony out of his reply.

"Delighted, of course," replied Brooker. In a more businesslike manner, he opened the red-lined folder and pulled out a paper. "Please sign and date here, for your high-security clearance."

These Brits were always prepared.

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Garrison closed the file and rubbed his forehead. Aside from the crazy basic premise, OSS had outlined a decent plan. The team would be mission-oriented, with only minimal intelligence-gathering. After accelerated special training at an un-named base in England, they would be dropped behind the lines in short missions to steal enemy documents, destroy target facilities, and generally create mayhem for Axis operations.

They had even paved the way with two prison wardens, both progressive enough to consider rehabilitation and education for their charges. Sing-Sing and Leavenworth, no less, high-security prisons. Garrison considered what he would find there.

The plan was 'experimental', in that only one single mission was promised. He was instructed to offer his recruits only that one task, and to promise only a consideration of parole on completion. If his evaluation of the unit was positive, full amnesty would be a consideration if they continued to operate successfully for the duration of hostilities.

Garrison re-read that statement carefully. HQ was expecting more of a return on their initial investment. A career-maker, or a career-breaker, he mused.

He picked up the phone and waited for the operator.


	2. Chapter 2

Sing-Sing

Garrison was escorted into the Warden's office. The stocky man came right to the point.

"Our staff has done some preliminary screening as you requested." He indicated a neat stack of gray folders on a side table. "Here's what we pulled out for you."

Garrison had set up a minimum requirements list: single men between 21 and 40, sentenced for 5 to 20 years, with no appeals in process. Convicts who had not turned state's witness, nor 'ratted' on their associates. A perverse way to judge loyalty, but it was the best he had available. He had also outlined a skill set, including a faint hope for foreign languages.

Two hours later, sitting in an empty office, he had sorted the stack into four piles.

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 **THE CON MAN**

The Italian national was on the top of his list. Claimed to be fluent in a number of languages, including French and German; he was actually teaching inmate classes twice a week. Convicted of possession of stolen property, and sentenced to 10 years. A heavy penalty for the offense, but his file also included a long list of crimes in which he was prime suspect, both here and in Europe. The man had been operating a long time in a lot of schemes before he had been caught red-handed. His current nickname was "Actor".

The guard escorted in a tall, well-built man in well-pressed gray uniform. "Thank you, officer," he said politely in a light accent. Garrison indicated a side chair. He sat gracefully.

Garrison offered a cigarette, which was accepted. Actor was at ease, waiting for the officer to start the conversation.

He introduced himself. "My name is Garrison. I'm here on official business. Everything we discuss here will be confidential."

"Of course," the Italian replied smoothly. "And what will we be discussing?"

Garrison suppressed a smile and changed his planned course.

"I think you're wasting your time here. I'm offering you a chance to come work for me and use your skills, instead of sitting here in a cell."

Actor raised his eyebrows. "Indeed? That sounds intriguing. For the war effort, I assume?"

"I'm guessing you're not a fan of Mussolini and the Fascists?"

"Certainly not," the man replied. "The current regime is the primary reason I emigrated here. Somewhat to my later regret, of course."

Garrison smiled sardonically and waited.

"And your offer includes…?"

"A covert operation, behind Axis lines," said Garrison. "Consideration of parole upon completion."

Actor nodded. "Successful completion?"

Smart response, thought Garrison. He's interested, but still cautious. He said simply, "My recommendation."

The Italian nodded again, then smiled. "On those terms, I am pleased to accept."

Garrison was pleased, too. But he wondered how Actor had managed the deal as if he was joining a partnership. He had thought he was simply offering the man a job.

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 **BURGLER AND PICKPOCKET**

The Englishman had been living in the States for almost five years. Obviously, this "Goniff" hadn't been here long enough to build relationships with his buyers. He had been sentenced to 5 to 10 years for burglary on the testimony of his fence. While he admitted to no other crimes, he was rumored to be a good top-story man. The guards reported he was easy-going, often performing sleight-of-hand tricks as entertainment.

The wiry blond man looked both younger and older than his years. He fidgeted on the chair in front of Garrison, but his guileless blue eyes missed nothing.

Garrison lit cigarettes for both of them. "I'm putting together a team for a covert operation behind enemy lines in Europe. Success means a recommendation for parole."

Goniff nodded and smiled. "Official? So wot are you talkin' wiv me for?" he asked in a still-strong Cockney accent.

"I'm looking for certain skills, and wondering what you might have to offer."

Goniff smiled again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigarette lighter. "Want this?"

Garrison managed to refrain from patting his own pocket. He was sure he had put it back there with the pack of cigarettes.

"P'raps this?" Goniff handed Garrison the gold pen he knew had been on his side of the desk. Garrison regarded him steadily, and the blond man returned his gaze.

"I'm pretty good at dipping."

"So I see…. I've heard you're a good second-story man, too."

"Eh, that's what we call pipe-and-drain work," replied the Brit cautiously. "Well, without confessing to dates and times and such, I've done me share."

Garrison found himself liking the man, regardless of his mannerisms. He made his offer in straight-forward terms.

Goniff thought it over for a few minutes, then said cheerfully, "Well, I wouldn't want to miss the whole war, sitting 'ere in stir. Me Mum will be right pleased I'm doing my bit."

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 **J** **ACK OF ALL TRADES**

Garrison was down to the third pile of folders. A dozen more interviews, usually brief. Most of these men were career criminals, deserved to be here, and deserved to stay here. He didn't expect this "Wheeler" to be much better than the rest, but he had good marks from the guards. Behaved himself and seemed to be respected by his block-mates. A string of arrests for various crimes, but only two convictions, for grand theft auto and conspiracy to commit robbery. His sentence was 15 years.

Wheeler looked tough and strong. He kept a bland face and sat comfortably in the offered chair. Garrison had his spiel down pat by now, but saw a spark of interest when he outlined the unit. The others had shifted their gaze or simply stared at him dumbly.

Wheeler helped himself to a second cigarette before he spoke, "Consideration of parole?" he asked. "I think I'd need more than that, Cap'n."

Garrison knew the man recognized his rank, but didn't correct him. He had already learned this was common terminology for the head guards.

"You behave and do your job, you'll get an official government recommendation. That should be enough for the parole commissioner. "

The convict chuckled and leaned back. After a moment regarding Garrison, he replied. "Well, it'll get me out of this joint, anyway, so why not? Sure, I'm in."

Garrison wished he liked the man better, but is choices were narrowing. He had his third recruit.


	3. Chapter 3

Leavenworth

The Warden had not prepared as well for Garrison's arrival. Instead, he called in his assistant and asked Garrison to explain his project. By this time, he knew what he needed – a really good safes man, another car thief and driver, all-around larceny.

The Assistant Warden took him down to the file room. He seemed to know the inmates better than the Warden; he rifled through a few drawers rather quickly and loaded the files onto a cart.

"This ought to get you started, Lieutenant," he said. "We get a lot of hard-cores out here. Most I wouldn't trust beyond my nose, but this bunch can be surprisingly decent. They just have their own set of rules, you know **."**

He rolled the cart out to an interview room.

"Say, Lieutenant, if you don't mind me asking…. How did you get this job?"

"I volunteered," Garrison said dryly.

This time, he divided the files into three groups – interesting, possibilities, and no-chance. Garrison hesitated over a few, and these ended up on the top of the middle pile. He seemed to have only the first half of the alphabet here, but there would be more if he needed them.

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 **THE SAFECRACKER**

Garrison waited for the third safecracker to be brought in. Casinitollini, known as "Casino", was facing 10 years for burglary. No priors, although he was named as a likely suspect in a series of bank, business, and residential heists. Didn't claim to have mob connections, which was refreshing for a first generation Italian-American.

Casino entered the room with self-confidence. He looked fit; he obviously exercised to keep in condition.

Garrison outlined his proposition briefly, watching for the man's reaction. He looked wary, but not hostile as the other two had been.

"Europe?" Casino said. "Never been there. Mosler, Schlossen, most good safes are made over there, you know."

"No, I didn't," Garrison answered. The other two had tried to list every job they'd ever dreamed of, once they understood a release was possible. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"So tell me how expert you are."

Casino considered, and decided to keep his reply brief. "Never met a safe I couldn't crack with the right tools." He held up hands.

Garrison liked the answer and hoped the man could live up to it. He brought it to the point. "Government recommendation of parole for this job. Training in other skills may be needed."

Casino nodded. "Always willing to learn a few tricks." He grinned suddenly. " And it sure beats ten years in this hole."

Garrison had his fourth man. He was feeling better.

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 **THE INDIAN**

Garrison hesitated over one possibility in the middle pile several times before he decided to call for him. No major crimes, one escape, immediately after the manslaughter conviction in a state prison. Garrison was intrigued; a guard had actually testified it had been self-defense. He was half-Indian, so of course they called him "Chief."

The guard delivered him to the door in handcuffs. Garrison frowned and said, "You can take those off."

The guard warned, "He can be a wild one, you know. Don't seem to appreciate being housed like a white man."

Dark eyes flared in the young man's face as the guard removed the cuffs, but he said nothing. He stood quietly, poised on the balls of his feet, until Garrison told him to sit down.

He decided to change his approach for this one.

"I have one question. Are you a killer?" he asked.

"They say so," the young man replied. "That's why I'm here."

"Self defense?"

Chief didn't change expression, but Garrison knew he was being evaluated. "I did what I had to do."

Garrison asked, "Would you do it again? Should I be worried about being alone with you?"

The Indian was scanning the room, but returned his eyes to Garrison's face. He thought, this kid knows every inch of this room already. And knows how to keep his back to the wall, literally and figuratively.

"That's two more questions. Yes, and no."

Garrison paused. "Would you be surprised if I told you I could kill you with one hand?"

"Mebbe not," Chief replied calmly.

Garrison knew full well that he could train any man to be a killer, he didn't need to recruit one. But his instincts told him this controlled young man might offer the right balance for his new unit. Younger than the rest of them, he would be respected for his criminal record.

"Better believe it. Now I have a proposition for you." Garrison outlined the plan briefly, and Chief replied just as briefly.

"Deal."

Garrison had his men. Now he had to turn them into a team.


End file.
